McCoy's Divorce
by The Girl from Shangri-La
Summary: Stuff was broken, things were said, Starfleet was suggested.
1. Chapter 1

"Goddamn it, Jillian! I need my hands, I'm a doctor!" Leonard McCoy shouted across the kitchen, after his wife threw the small portable replicator. He had put his hands up as a reflex action to try and protect his face. Luckily the replicator had veered a little to the right and missed him completely. It did smash through the front of the china cabinet, but that didn't matter too much. McCoy had hated that china pattern ever since Jillian picked it out. For their wedding. It had little pink flowers on it and gold around the edges. How was a man supposed to enjoy eating off of hideous plates that cost half as much as their apartment?

"I wish it had hit you in the head and you had concussed!" Jillian shouted back, "Then you'd fallen asleep and slipped into an irreversible coma! _Doctor_ McCoy!"

"Why in hell did I teach her about these things?" McCoy whispered to himself. Something whipped through the air and fell short of colliding with him.

His Great Uncle Hector's crystal decanter shattered at his feet.

"Oh god," Jillian gasped, holding her hand up to her face in horror, "I didn't mean to throw that, Leo. I really didn't."

McCoy knelt down, his face in a deeply concerned expression, and examined the shards of crystal scattered on the floor. It seemed to be a clean break without too many small pieces, and he figured he could repair most of it. Particularly if he used some of his lab equipment. Carefully, he began picking it all up. The bottom of the decanter was intact, and he used it to hold all of the smaller pieces.

"Leo…" Jillian said, the anger drained out of her voice. But there was nothing else she felt she could say, the horrible silence that stood between them already held it all. Every complaint, every accusation, every insult and every half-hearted apology.

"You want it? You got it." McCoy nodded, his jaw tight and his eyes full of bitter disappointment. He stared Jillian down an icy eternity before taking what was left of the decanter and heading into the bedroom. She followed him.

"What should we tell Joanna?" She asked, watching him pull his suitcase down off of the closet shelf.

"She's ten, not an idiot," McCoy answered harshly, "She knows what's been going on. The whole damn building knows. The _doorman_ asked me when we were getting our divorce. I guess now I've got an answer for him."

He packed all of the clothes he actually wore and an extra pair of shoes, and then looked around for something he'd obviously misplaced. Whatever it was wasn't on top of the dresser or in the nightstand cupboard, or under the bed. McCoy stomped over to the computer panel and pressed down the enquiry button.

"Where the hell is my copy of A Survey on Cygenian Respiratory Functions?" He barked, and received only the twittering beep that indicated an error.

"Unable to process request." The computer's voice replied.

"Why did we get this thing? It doesn't work!" McCoy grumbled, and began piling more essential items into his suitcase. He walked into his small study, the automatic doors opening with a soft _woosh_, and began packing his medical travel bag.

As it turned out, his copy of A Survey on Cygenian Respiratory Functions was sitting underneath his favourite photograph. It was of him and Joanna and their most perfect sandcastle. Fort McCoy. Joanna was only four at the time, and she was wearing one of those funny little girl swimsuits with the ruffles on the bottom. She also had a starfish-patterned pail on her head, because she needed sturdy gear if she was going to defend the fort.

McCoy picked up the photo and took a few calming breaths as he held it in his hand. He knew that Jillian was standing behind him, probably twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. Like she always did when she was uneasy.

"I'm going to a hotel. I don't know which one, but I'll call when I get there. You can talk to Joanna tonight," He sighed deeply, "And tomorrow, I'll pick her up from school. I'll take her to the zoo and down to that Andorian ice cream place she can't get enough of. She's gonna have questions, and I'm gonna want to answer them."

---

Joanna watched with amusement as her old man pushed the Andorian ice cream around in his bowl with a disgruntled look on his face. They were sitting in an out-of-the-way booth by a window that faced a magnolia tree. Magnolia trees were something they had in common.

"It's not going to kill you. Try it." She instructed. Squished into the side of the booth next to her enormous stuffed giraffe her father had bought her because he was sorry. She'd also gotten to visit the kangaroos; so she figured if it was going to make him feel better about everything, she might as well sacrifice her afternoon.

"What's it made with?" McCoy asked, crinkling his brow.

"Andorian cream." Joanna shrugged her small shoulders, and took a long sip of her root-beer float. She managed to drain about half of the glass in one go.

"Please tell me that it comes from Andorian cows…"

"Sure. It comes from Andorian cows."

McCoy gave her his version of a stern fatherly expression. Somehow, it always lacked the gravitas he intended. Getting after her for her sense of humour was more than a little hypocritical.

"Listen," He cleared his throat and looked her square in the eye, "It's no good to keep dancing around the subject. I suppose your mom explained the situation to you?"

"Yup. You two are calling it quits. And she's going to move in with that cheerful fella she's been running around with." Joanna said with an awfully familiar sort of dry cynicism.

"Damn it. Did she tell you she was going to do that?" McCoy shook his head. He had been hoping that somehow his daughter hadn't found out about her mother's affair.

"Not _directly_. I overheard her on the communicator with Aunt Sandy. Are you going to join Starfleet?"

"Join Starfleet? Where'd you come up with that?" McCoy chuckled. Sometimes it was as though his little girl pulled her ideas out of thin air.

"I saw some posters that said Starfleet medical was looking for the best doctors on Earth. And I thought about you, and since you're not going to be doing much else…"

"Hey, now!" He scolded, "Just because I'm not living with you doesn't mean I'm gonna start sittin' on my hands. I've still got patients, you know."

"Not if Mom can take 'em away from you." Joanna scoffed under her breath.

"Fair enough," McCoy replied under his breath, and then tried to put the conversation back on track, "I'm flattered that you think I'm one of Earth's best doctors."

"A man ought never be flattered by the truth, Daddy," She finished off the last of her float. McCoy's ice cream was still melting in the bowl, so she reached across the table and grabbed it from him.

"Don't make yourself sick." He warned.

"I think you should join Starfleet. Did you know that the Federation is expanding every day? And we're launching three new exploration vessels in the next five years. It only takes four years to complete the Academy, three if you're real smart. And it's in San Francisco! You can visit the Golden Gate Bridge and everything! And then you get to see the stars! And seek out new life and new civilizations! Just like Zefram Cochrane said!" Joanna gradually became more and more excited as she spoke.

"What do they do? Play propaganda films at your school?" McCoy smiled broadly, "Honey, you know I wouldn't do well in space. They wouldn't be able to get me on the shuttle to San Francisco, let alone off the planet."

"Okay. But keep your options open," Joanna advised as she polished off his ice cream, "I hate to think about you sittin' around all depressed in some hotel room on my account."

"Do the other kids your age talk like this?" McCoy asked, resting his elbow on the table and leaning his face against his fist.

"Nope. Most of 'em are puh-retty slow. I often wonder why that is…"


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy was beginning to look dishevelled, and not in a roguishly charming sort of way either. He'd been sleeping in his temporary hotel room for two months. The computer panel buzzed because it had been improperly installed, and there was a sign across the street made from Denobulan neon. Funny thing McCoy had learned about Denobulan neon - it never had to be shut off. For awhile in the morning, everything he looked at had a sort of bright pink quality to it. He'd been to lawyers and accountants and back to lawyers trying to sort out the shambles of his life. Jillian wanted everything. Including Joanna.

It had occurred to him to fight the good fight. Argue that she was the one having the affair, that he was a respectable member of the medical community. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't take a child away from her mother, even if that child obviously preferred him and her mother was Jillian. Besides, he didn't know what direction things were going in. He didn't even have a place to live yet. And he'd increased his hours at the clinic to merit more legal vouchers from the government. Oh, no. Nobody used money on Earth anymore…

He'd tried drinking. And it was a good, honest try that took him a whole weekend. But he couldn't maintain the pace. He had patients who relied on him. He capped off the day with a shot of bourbon most nights, but rarely did he make it two. If there was an emergency at three in the morning, and somebody needed to have their appendix out, McCoy didn't want to be the drunken fool who couldn't help.

As he walked into the clinic, the new receptionist - Kimmy or Candy or something - gave him a smile that dripped with holier-than-thou pity. It was probably all she could do to keep from clucking her tongue. She did shake her head, though.

"Good morning, Doctor." She said.

McCoy grunted and shuffled into his office. His first patient wasn't for twenty minutes yet. He went up to the replicator, pressed down the order button and yawned deeply.

"Unable to process request." The machine beeped.

He tried again.

"Coffee. Black."

A small white cup appeared in the slot. McCoy pulled the small glass door up and took it. Nice and hot. He sipped on it awhile, thinking about his life. It appeared to suck. The com system beeped and Kimmy-Candy's voice spoke:

"Dr. McCoy, your nine-thirty is early. Shall I send her in?"

"Fine." McCoy sighed and knocked back the rest of his coffee. It burned the back of his mouth. Such was his luck.

His first patient of the day was an old patient, in two senses. Gladys Smart was well over eighty years old, and she had been going to the clinic since before McCoy's time there. She'd lived in Atlanta her whole life, and she was everything a sweet old Southern lady ought to be. She even still wore her Sunday best to visit the doctor. And all things considered, she was in remarkable shape.

"You're lookin' a little piquey, Leonard." She observed, walking to the examination table.

"Divorce does that to a man. Or so they tell me." McCoy answered, beginning a basic tricorder scan. Mrs. Smart observed the device with her usual disdain. She figured it couldn't tell her anything about her health that she didn't already know, and she felt just fine.

"Divorce, huh? That's a shame. Some women are just fools." The old lady flashed him a jokingly flirtatious smile. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Then again," She continued, "It's better to get out while the gettins good. I was married twenty-eight years. Only enjoyed about four of them. Best thing you get is the kids."

"Now that's the truth." McCoy nodded.

"I didn't know you had children, Doctor!"

"Just the one little girl. Joanna. She's ten."

"Oh, I bet you spoil her something rotten," Mrs. Smart scolded, "Is she gonna become a doctor like her Daddy? The world could sure use a few more."

"Well, right now she wants to join Starfleet…" McCoy smiled, and looked up from his readings at his patient's face. It had fallen into a deeply unhappy expression.

"My boys joined Starfleet. All three of them. Ain't a one of them coming home now, either," She sighed, catching McCoy off guard, "My eldest, Charlie, the Klingons got him. Blew a whole ship clean to pieces. Nothing left even to turn over to me in one of those horrible little black boxes. But I got myself two of those later, you see. How many doctors do you think it would take to treat three hundred people dying of phaser burns?"

"Off-hand, you'd need about twelve. If the burns are real bad." McCoy answered softly. He'd heard her talk about her boys, but he hadn't known they'd died.

"On the Daphne, that was Arnie's ship, they had four of 'em and a handful of nurses. They had to get the science officers in there, trying to sedate folks. You've probably seen a nasty phaser burn or two, you know how that would be. Killing a boy of twenty-four."

McCoy nodded. He knew how that would be.

"Well, you see, they just don't have the doctors. I guess it takes a certain type to join Starfleet. All my boys were adventurers, you know. Danny, he tried to build his own starship when he was twelve. Didn't do half bad, either. But they couldn't study hard enough to go through medical school, I can tell you that…"

"There's gotta be some good doctors on those ships?"

"Oh! There are. One or two. And a kid gets lucky if they land themselves on one of those ships. But it's not enough," Mrs. Smart shook her head, "You tell your little girl not to join Starfleet. She oughtta be a doctor, like her daddy."

"I'm going to give you a hypo with your blood pressure medication in it," McCoy let her know, and gently pressed the device against the base of her neck, "And that's it. You're in fine health, Mrs. Smart."

---

They gave him a brochure, but he didn't read it. He'd just signed his name and left his information. In a week, he'd be on his way to San Francisco. And after that, he'd go where he was needed.


End file.
